


When Fairy Tales Attack

by Sar_Kalu



Series: A String of W.I.P's [11]
Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Dimension Travel, F/M, Fighting, I actually don't know why I wrote this, I may write more of this, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mina is a queen, Time Travel, a good witch, anyway r & r, bad witches - Freeform, harry is a kid btw, how you enjoy, it just sort of... stops, it was a whole thing, its not really finished, like 12/13, like literally one, plot bunny bit me, there's arguably graphic violence, was watching H&G:WH last night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: Waking in a forest far, far from home, Harry Potter is sucked into a world where witches are evil and magic is forbidden; it's like nothing he's ever seen before...





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 

It was dark and it was quiet.

 

Above the sleeping childs head, a full moon shone in a velvet-black sky full of stars. All around him, tall trees towered like monoliths dark and silent and still. Movement from the undergrowth, a rustling of a body over dried pine needles. The boy woke with a start, fear thrilling through him, and green eyes stared into the golden gaze of a slinking fox, needle sharp teeth bared in silent threat as the much smaller creature realised it had been spotted by something far larger than it.

 

Harry Potter pushed himself to his knees and the fox startled with a bark of fear and a flash of the white tip of its tail, it disappeared once more into the undergrowth. A cool wind brushed over Harry’s exposed arms and he shivered, wondering what had happened to him, if this was a trap. The last thing he remembered… was Aunt Petunia locking him out of the house and Harry recalled how he had walked down Privet Drive, and across Magnolia Crescent to the empty park where he had… Harry frowned, staring around him, he’d been curled up in the tunnel of the play gym, not in a forest.

 

Standing to his full height, Harry rubbed at his empty belly and took stock of his surroundings. Trees for the most part, some lower lying shrubs and bushes. It was dark and Harry’s left lens had a deep crack in it. Harry had no idea where he was, but…. he reached into his pocket and drew out eleven inches of holly wood, the warmth and comfort that holding his wand gave him settled the majority of his nerves.

 

Harry tugged off his glasses and taped them with his wand; “occulis repairo,” Harry incanted, remembering the charm that Hermione had taught him in his first year.A flash of white light emanated from the wands tip and the glasses were repaired.

 

Harry stood still, eyes to the sky as he waited for the ministry’s owl. Surely the Ministry of Magic would have picked up on the use of underage magic. Even where ever he was now. Ages seemed to pass and Harry sank into a curled up ball in the roots of a giant tree. The wind had grown cooler and Harry’s skin was prickling with cold. Tiredness tugged at him and his eyes began to close, wand in hand, Harry slipped into slumber, waiting for the owl from the Ministry of Magic that would never come.

 

***

 

“Over here!” A masculine voice cried out and Harry startled awake at the sound, hands shoving him upright and at the last minute, realising that the man running towards him wasn’t wearing robes, hurriedly pocketed his wand.

 

The man had dark brown hair and pale eyes, a thick rugged beard sprouting from his chin, and he wore clothes that Harry didn’t recognise outside of the period dramas that Aunt Petunia watched on the telly: baggy pants tucked into tall leather boots, a billowy shirt that was tight about his wrists and laced at the neck under a quilted, sleeveless vest that didn’t button, but instead had toggles and loops that fastened at the front. From the man’s broad leather belt hung a sharpened axe that looked like the sort used to cut down trees rather than the axes used by medieval knights in Dudley’s books.

 

“Boy, are you alright?” The man asked Harry, his arms outstretched as if to reassure Harry he wasn’t a threat.

 

Harry stared at him mutely and shook his head, looking around him in confusion. In the light of day the forest seemed so much larger; greener, browner, and nearly covering up every inch of sky that could be barely seen through the crowns of the tallest trees. Harry had never felt so very small or so very lost since his first year. His tee shirt and jeans weren’t doing much against the chill of the morning either, and Harry rubbed at his upper arms, hunched over for warmth.

 

The man huffed and tugged his jacket off, “here,” he beckoned, “come here, boy; what’s your name? Where are your parents? How did you get here?” The man rattled off questions even as he pulled Harry into his arms and wrapped him into the jacket. It smelt strongly of horse and sweat, but Harry felt his shivers begin to taper off and couldn’t feel anything but grateful to the strange man. “My name is Hans,” the man told Harry, exaggerating his smile and ducking his head down to meet Harry’s eyes, “what’s your name, boy?”

 

“Harry,” Harry told the man, Hans, and pressed into Hans’ body as the sound of crashing feet in the undergrowth grew steadily louder. “My name is Harry.”

 

“A good name,” Hans told him, chaffing his hands up and down Harry’s upper arms, sending jolts of warmth shimmering through Harry’s body. “A strong name.”

 

“Hans,” hailed the lead runner, a man of equal height and breadth to Hans, though he wore a grey jacket instead of an orange one. Behind the first of the newcomers followed three others, one in black and green, the other in brown and green, and the third in red and tan. “Why did you call for us?”

 

“Jacob,” Hans greeted, “I called because I found Harry here,” Hans told the other man, gesturing first to Harry who shivered in fear in his arms, and then to the roots of the tree where he’d spotted Harry.

 

“Harry?” Jacob asked, surprise making his brows climb into his hairline. “Where are your parents?”

 

“Dead,” Harry said shortly, ducking his head, unhappy to have the topic brought up again. It was still a sore subject, even after meeting Mrs. Weasley and being all but adopted into the Weasley Clan. There were days when Harry would sometimes stare into the mirror of the bathroom at Privet Drive and try and see his father in his face and his mother in his eyes; but he rarely saw anyone but Harry. Just Harry.

 

Jacob’s face fell and a moment of silence stretched out before he spoke once more, “I’m sorry for your loss, Harry.” Jacob and Hans looked at each other and seemed to reach a decision, “do you live nearby?”

 

Harry looked around him, the forest, the mens dress, even the climate which was colder and wetter then he was used to; it all seemed unfamiliar. “I don’t know where I am,” he admitted eventually, hanging his head in shame and defeat.

 

“Just outside Ausberg,” the third man told him, smiling gently at him.

 

Harry shrugged, eyes wide and his face pale, “I don’t know where that is,” he told the third man, who frowned and made to speak, but for Hans’ raised hand.

 

“Enough Karl,” Hans chided, before turning to Harry, rubbing his arms soothingly. “Ausberg is in Bavaria, the south of Germany,” he explained and Harry felt his eyes well up with tears.

 

“Germany?” He whispered and shook his head, “no, no, that’s not possible!”

 

“He’s not from Germany?” The second man queried in confusion.

 

Karl shook his head, clearly stumped, “he speaks perfect German though.”

 

“Perhaps he comes from Switzerland?”

 

“The Swiss have a different accent, Samuel,” refuted another man, “it is more likely he comes from Austria.”

 

Samuel huffed his clear disagreement only for Jacob to step in, “enough, it doesn’t matter where he comes from; he’s a lost child. We need to help him.”

 

Karl was nodding along as Jacob spoke, injecting: “we should take him to the Mayor,” to clear consensus of the other men.

 

Hans clapped Harry on his shoulder, “can you walk? It is a long way from here to Ausberg.”

 

Harry nodded silently and watched as Jacob ordered Hans to take him back to the town while the others would start work chopping down trees. Hans paused long enough to shout after the other men: “remember to avoid the witches house!” receiving a lazily waved hand in acknowledgement for his troubles.

 

As Jacob and the other lumberjacks disappeared into the forest, Hans tugged Harry down a barely marked game trail, ignoring how Harry tripped and stumbled over the slightest obstacle, making for the thinning of the tree-line just ahead. AS they traversed, more and more sunlight poured through the broad branches of the trees and the light changed, morphing from a gloomy blue to a bright gleaming green to shining yellow as they burst out onto a wide, hard packed dirt road.

 

Hans paused long enough to straighten his shirt and readjust his belt and axe, before gesturing to Harry to follow him and starting down the long muddy road. The mud crunched more than squelched beneath Harry’s tennis shoes and more often than not Harry would stumble and stagger like a drunk over the hard-packed ground. He could feel rocks and gravel beneath the thin soles of his shoes and before long his legs were aching and sore. The forest around them remained unchanged, dappled with early red and yellow leaves of the soon-to-be-changing season as autumn snuck up on them. Above his head, the sky stretched an endless blue like a bowl overturned atop the land and not a single cloud scudded across its surface.

 

Slowly, Harry became aware of the scent of smoke and something burning on the wind and as Hans rounded them about a bend in the road, a cluster of dark houses appeared in view. The muddy road cut through what appeared to be a set of towers or perhaps thinner narrow houses between copses of trees and ahead Harry could see a wider space where people gathered. Even from a distance, Harry could hear the chatter and hub of many people talking, hawking, and the sounds of children shouting and playing.

 

Hans grabbed the back of Harry’s shirt, recognising the look of a distracted child in the boy’s face and all but hauled Harry around and through the bustling market place. Ausberg appeared to be a midsized township with several inns and places to trade and buy goods. Most people seemed to be in good health with ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, more than one woman could be heard singing from the kitchens of their homes that Hans led Harry past. Towards the top end of town across from a church with a tall steeple and a thin, haggard man in a black cassockat the top of the steps, was another stately appearing building made of stone and with a bell tower of its own. Set below the tower was a clock that showed that the day way nearly a quarter done, still early yet but late enough that Hans was clearly concerned for his work load.

 

Stepping into the shadow of the town hall, Hans all but shoved Harry up the steps and inside. It was cool and dark inside, with polished stone floors and sconces set with candles that illuminated the stone walls and the decorative and heavy tapestries that hung from bronze brackets. A short thin man dressed in green met them just inside and Hans ducked his head in respect of him.

 

“Good day, Mister Jackson,” Hans greeted the shorter man almost shyly, “I found this boy in the forest and he does not remember who or where he is; Jacob and I thought it best to bring him to you and Mayor Engelmann.”

 

Mister Jackson smiled thinly at Hans, his sharp eyes darting across Harry’s undoubtably ragged appearance, muddy shoes, and dirty face without expressing his true feelings. “Quite right,” Mist Jackson agreed finally, stepping aside and gesturing to a room of to the side, “this way please.”

 

Harry quickly found himself hauled down a corridor with dramatic scenery of the surroundings of Ausberg done in oil and framed in heavy wood or brass. The Mayors office was tucked towards the back of the building and up four flights of stairs; it had narrow windows overlooking the forest behind the building, and directly below sprawled the second half of the town and what appeared to be an orchard of fruit trees.

 

The Mayor was a man with a broad nose and a slightly red complexion; his eyes were a watery blue and wisely compassionate as he welcomed Mister Jackson, Hans, and Harry into his office. Dressed in a finer suit of clothes than Hans or Mister Jackson, his jacket, waistcoat, and pants were all a dark brown in colour and he wore brown shoes with a brass buckle on the top. There were all manner of papers piled upon his desk in messy stacks with thin spidery writing covering the most of every inch of all that Harry could see. A single candle sat lit in a taper on the corner of his desk, the open flame guttering in the slight breeze that drifted through the windows. Harry shivered and huddled into Hans’ jacket, wishing he was warmer.

 

“Here, boy,” Mister Jackson directed, pulling a large armchair over by the fire and settling Harry onto the seat. “I’ll be back directly, I’ll just go get some food from Maria, the child looks half starved.”

 

Harry’s eyes quickly began to droop as the wash of warmth from the fire created a sort of torpor over him. The chair was not particularly comfortable and there was a slightly rancid scent to the room of a man unbathed or even of something rendered and greasy. Overlaying that was the scent of dried flowers and potpourri; and Harry sagged even further into the chair as fatigue threatened to drag him under.

 

Mister Jackson appeared once more in a rattle of leather shoes upon creaky wood, barely interrupting the report that Hans was giving to the Mayor about finding Harry in the woods. Harry was urged to sit upright and eat the best of the meal that Mister Jackson had brought him: fresh baked black bread, hard yellow cheese, pickles, and a hard boiled egg. At Harry’s elbow a clay mug of fresh milk was set upon a side table, waiting for his attention. Despite the bread and cheese and pickles being hard and dry for the most part, Harry wolfed the meal down as though nothing had touched his lips for the past week. Pausing to take a breather and a draught of the milk, Harry felt more and more like himself as the good meal settled in his stomach.

 

“Hungry then, were you?” The Mayor asked Harry good-naturedly, “understandable; after all, Hans tells me he found you in the forest, is that true?”

 

Harry paused before taking another bite of his sandwich and swallowed heavily before answering, “it is, sir,” he agreed, placing the food back on his plate and staring up wide eyed at the much taller larger man in front of him.

 

“Relax, Harry, is it?” At Harry’s nod, Mayor Englemann continued, “you’re not in trouble, we just need to work out what happened.”

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Harry admitted, feeling queasy now with a full stomach of bread, cheese, pickles, and snakes of nervous fear.

 

Mayor Englemann nodded at that, “and that’s okay; but,” he said looking down at Harry with deep seriousness, “I would ask that you try to remember.”

 

“My parents are dead,” Harry told the Mayor as he’d told Hans, Jacob, and the other men in the forest. “I live with my Aunt and Uncle, but they don’t like me much and last night I was told to get out of the house for breaking my cousins toy,” at the raised brows of Mayor Englemann, Harry rushed to explain, “I didn’t really, but Dudley likes to blame me for everything! I would never break something I didn’t own, it wouldn’t be right!”

 

The Mayor smiled and raised a hand, hushing Harry’s rush of words, “it’s okay, you don’t look like the sort of boy that would do much of anything wrong without cause,” and the Mayor’s smile widened as Harry sagged in his seat with relief; “but this doesn’t explain how you came to be in the forest?”

 

Harry frowned at that in confusion, “that’s the thing, sir, where we live, there’s no forest at all. There’s one next to my school, but that’s ages away.”

 

“School?” Mayor Engelmann murmured, eyeing the boy in front of him curiously.

 

Mister Jackson hummed in agreement, the silent realisation that the boy before them might be the son of a nobleman or of someone high born stilling their tongues. For all that Harry didn’t look like he’d been noble-born, there was a fineness to his features and glasses like the ones he wore didn’t come cheap. Most could barely afford a third of the glass he wore in one lease of his eyeglasses. With tacit agreement, neither the Mayor nor Mister Jackson would speak of Harry’s school or their quiet beliefs about his parentage again.

 

Harry had fallen quiet in he intervening silence of Mayor Engelmann and Mister Jackson’s silent conversation and now drank slowly from his mug of milk.

 

“You have no parents and no way of knowing where your family is, correct?” Mayor Engelmann stated as he stood upright and moved to his desk.

 

Harry nodded and bit his lip, his food sitting like a lead weight in his belly now the decision with what to do with him was being made.

 

“Hmmm, well,” Mayor Engelmann stared at Harry in consideration, “the best decision would be to place you within the orphanage while I make inquiries with the other nearby towns to see if I can’t locate your Aunt and Uncle. If you give me their names, I’ll ask around and in the meantime, you will follow Mister Jackson to the orphanage and they will house you, feed you, and you will make yourself useful; agreed?”

 

Harry, who knew he wasn’t being given a choice at all, nodded quickly, saying, “yes, sir,” before following Mister Jackson out the office once more. It was only then that Harry realised that Hans had long since left, presumably without saying goodbye and something twisted in his gut at that thought.

 

No one wanted him; it was like the Dursley’s all over again, only this time, nothing was familiar nor made any sense.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry grabbed an armload of the fresh cut firewood that Max, the oldest boy at the orphanage, was cutting. Max was one of the few blonde haired, blue eyed people in Ausberg and all the girls of the village considered him to be the most beautiful. At nearly fifteen years old, Max was also set to be apprenticed to the local baker on his next name-day. Harry liked Max, the older boy always had time for his questions and reminded Harry a lot of Oliver Wood; kind, brave hearted, and determined about the strangest things. Oliver had been obsessed with Quidditch, but Max was obsessed with bread and beer making. Harry would listen open mouthed as the older boy would go on and on about different yeasts and fermenting times and what happened when bread didn’t raise correctly.

 

Despite years of his Aunt and Uncle telling him about the terrible things that happened in orphanages, Ausberg’s orphanage was run by an elderly, kindly woman named Helga. She had twelve children under her care, including Max and Harry; the youngest was Susanna, an eighteen month old baby who was Helga’s only grandchild, her daughter having died in childbirth and her son-in-law being of of t=the towns local drunkards, beset by the grief and loss of his wife. Helga, however, remained strong and kind, a patron to the infirm and the orphans of the town. Johann, when he wasn’t knee deep in beer, would take the boys out and teach them to track and to hunt, and if he was feeling generous, would teach them how to fight with swords and guns.

 

Each boy would be apprenticed off to a local craftsman when they reached their fifteenth birthday and girls would be married advantageously as best could be arranged on their sixteenth birthdays. Most girls were taught to embroider and sew, some who were strong of body were taught to weave, and all were taught to cook, clean, and maintain a home for their future husbands. Harry, despite having no particular labour skillset, was one of the few in Ausberg, who could read and write; and while he had no clue when that had included German, Harry nonetheless took advantage of this fact when he was found out, reading a newspaper nearly two months old that a traveller had left behind on his way to München from Berlin.

 

Already the law offices had put in for an apprenticeship with him with the towns Judge, the Honourable Mister Richter having tapped him as a potential successor. For though patronage got a boy far, the ability to read and write was more than half the game won, and Mister Richter had no children of his own. Harry, while still confused about his situation and station, was nonetheless grateful to all that had happened. While it was true he was out of place and more than likely out of time, Harry was looking at a promising career that would likely fund any and all research into getting him home. There was little he could do now. The wider forested area was filled with brigands and bandits if Elise, the innkeepers wife, was to be believed and the Sheriff and his men had more than enough to deal with than a boy running away let alone asking for details about his family.

 

Harry set his sixth armload of firewood in the shed behind the orphanages kitchen and stopped a while to listen to the now-soothing chatter of the girls hard at work inside. Donations of food by locals were given to the orphanage to feed them; the orphanage girls in turn would turn that food into meals not just for the orphanage residence, but also for the poor and infirm in the way houses and the hospital on the far side of town. The kitchen was communal and all were welcome to cook in it and, Harry gave a wolfish grin, more than a few of the women were excellent chefs.

 

Quick fingers liberated two scorching blackberry pies from the window sill and a giggling Gretchen told no one of Harry’s roguish wink as he stole two apples and a pitcher of light beer from the closest table. To the chorus of women’s cries of anger and frustration, Harry darted around the side to where Max and William were trading places in cutting firewood.

 

“Max, William!” Harry cried gleefully, spilling his spoils upon a stump of wood, “look what I found!”

 

Max laughed loudly at Harry’s cheek, patting the younger boy on the back. “It’ll go grandly with the loaf Will found,” Max grinned and winked at the pair of dark headed boys across from him.

 

William nodded his head, his floppy hair falling into his eyes, and smiled softly. “Look, it’s Ernst and Stefan,” William said quietly, a gentle mouse of a boy who was nonetheless more than capable of causing a ruckus when needed.

 

Stefan was Mister Jackson’s son, a ruddy cheeked boy with bright blue eyes and a laughing face. He and Harry had become fast friends over Harry’s time in the law offices, copying important documents in their best hand for Mister Richter and his aids. “Ho, lads,” Stefan greeted them, “whats all this?”

 

“Found it,” Harry said, around a mouthful of the last of the sweet autumnal apples, juice dribbling down his chin.

 

Ernst hummed in a way that suggested that he didn’t believe Harry but wasn’t going to say anything against it. Beside him, Stefan shrugged off his knapsack and lifted the flap to reveal the last of a roast: chicken, turnips, and sweet beats; as well as a flagon of fresh milk and an apple pie. “Might we join you, gents,” Stefan said grandly, his voice high and tight with gleeful enjoyment, “we come prepared.”

 

Max gave a loud cry of gladness and the five boys settled beneath a nearby tree, laughing, drinking, eating, and chatting for well beyond their allotted lunch breaks; but it was almost winter and the last of the good weather was upon them. Soon there would be waist high snow drifts to fight through and good food and laughter outside like this would be impossible in the depths of the winter months.

 

***

 

The first Harry heard of the disappearances was on his way home after a long day of copying boring and dry law texts for the new apprentice clerks who were still learning to write themselves. The market, always a place of noise and colour, was washed out and nearly quiet as women and men both asked for their missing children. In the span of three weeks, three girls and a boy had been taken. Harry loitered on the edge of the crowd, listening to the heart rending begging of the parents and wondered what this might mean for the town.

 

The past four months had been more like a dream than reality for Harry. There were still mornings where he woke up absolutely certain that he would be in his bedroom at Privet Drive, his Aunt banging on the door to get him up and working long before Dudley had even thought of opening his eyes. Those were the days that Harry was sluggish and slow, his eyes dull with missing his previous life. Sometimes he wondered if Professor Dumbledore was looking for him, if Ron and Hermione had noticed he wasn’t there anymore, of if they’d completely forgotten him. Other days, Harry would pack a small bag and carry it around with him, absolutely certain that he was about to be picked up and spirited away with magic back to Hogwarts, back to Gryffindor and all the things he missed and loved.

 

But here and now, something was going wrong; children were going missing, and Harry, who had only seen Ausberg happy and bright, was scared. A fear that was reflected at the orphanage, Harry realised, as he crossed the threshold and noticed how… quiet it was. The younger children had picked up on the fear of the adults and were following them around, clinging to skirts and apron strings. Harry was quick to locate Helga and give her his wages he’d earned for the day before ducking outside and finding Max and William chopping wood out the back.

 

“You heard,” Max grunted as he swung the axe, noticing Harry’s downcast eyes and quiet demeanour.

 

Harry nodded, kicking at a lump of sod on the ground. “Yeah,” he confirmed heavily, “the oldest was thirteen.”

 

William’s mouth turned upwards, “makes me safe then,” he said, faintly cheered, as he was almost as old as Max, at fourteen.

 

“I’m not,” Harry said hollowly, bleakness filling him. He was twelve, nearly thirteen, true, but… of the age that the children were being snatched.

 

William’s mirth drained away and his eyes appeared too big for their sockets as he looked at Harry in fear. “You’re right,” he said, licking his lips and exchanging a glance with Max.

 

Max hefted the axe high into the air and drove it heavily into the stump at his feet. “Nearly everyone here is young enough to be taken,” Max declared too loudly in frustration and Gretchen, who had followed Harry outside, burst into noisy tears, fear filling her.

 

Harry darted forwards and pulled the younger girl into a tight hug. “Hey, hey,” Harry soothed as best he could, “nothing’s going to happen; nothing’s happened here yet. We’re safe, you’re safe, Gretchen; it’ll be okay, you’ll see,” Harry chattered at her, both William and Max nodding along and adding their own pieces until Gretchen was no longer crying and was instead blinking big hazel eyes up at them, tears turning her cheeks all sticky and wet.

 

“Here,” Max said gruffly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wetting it in a pail of water that sat beneath the eaves, before wiping Gretchen’s face clean. “You’ll be fine,” then looking at Harry’s whey face, reiterated: “we all will be, okay?”

 

Gretchen and Harry both nodded, “okay.”

 

Max nodded sharply and hung his handkerchief over the banister to dry before returning to chopping wood. Harry and Gretchen helped to stack the wood in the shed behind the kitchen, while William traded off with Max in cutting the wood. The task was done in time for dinner and Max made it his business to ensure that everyone was smiling and lighthearted despite their fears. By the time it was time for bed, all the denizens of the orphanage were more relaxed and content and more than able to sleep.

 

Which was why Harry, who was homesick and fearful in spite of all Max had done for them all, was the only one to hear the soft shriek of fear that came from Gretchen’s room. Stumbling upright and just in his long-johns, Harry slipped from his room that he shared with one of the younger boys, Peter, and down the hall into Gretchen’s. Harry stared for a long, slow moment at the sight of a foul demon clutching Gretchen to it, but adrenaline kicked him into action the moment he realised what he was seeing.

 

Harry let out a wild yell, hoping to alert the rest of the house, and tackled the demon away from Gretchen. Though he was strong and robust for his age after several months of hard labour, Harry was no match for the supernaturally strong demon. Her eyes glowed a sickly green and her face was as white as a corpses and cracked akin to broken glass. The demon's mouth was filled with fangs and its head was covered with spikes, and Harry’s struggles and attempts to beat it off was met with laughter.

 

“Leave her alone!” Harry shouted loudly, “Max! Max! Help!”

 

The demon wrapped a hand about Harry’s neck and stared deep into his eyes, “I will not leave her alone, I need a child born in July and she,” the demon laugh, high pitched and cold, “is perfect!”

 

Harry writhed in the demons grip, catching sight of Gretchen’s weeping, white face in the gloom of her bedroom, and did the most Gryffindorish, foolish thing he could think of: “I was born in July!” Harry shouted, “take me instead!” and in protest of his point, Harry brought a foot up and kicked out at the demon, driving into its stomach with all his strength.

 

“Fool!” The demon spat, all but doubled over and clearly in some pain, “you will barely live long enough to regret that!” and with that, the demon shoved its face into Harry’s, breathing fetid breath across his face and making him gag. “I will enjoy killing you, boy!”

 

Harry’s struggles increased, this time from fear for himself, but for nothing as the demon dragged him over to the window and atop a broomstick far above the ground. Soaring upwards they were met with a second demon, with hair like blood and eyes filled with blue fire, across the front of her broom lay an unconscious child, dark hair obscuring their face. Fear leant wings to his heart and Harry clung desperately to the broomsticks handle, not wanting to fall as the ground fell far far away from beneath his feet.

 

The last thing Harry saw, before the demons spirited him away, was the white face of Gretchen in the window to her bedroom, her scream of despair following his ascent.


	3. Chapter 3

The ground was rough beneath his palms and there was something fetid in the air as he breathed. Harry had no way of knowing how long he had been in the cave with the stolen children. Stefan had been stolen a week after him, Klaus a month; and both had been taken weeks after the latest girl. Madeline was the second to youngest, with blonde hair and brown eyes, she shook in her nightgown as she watched the witches talk amongst themselves. Twelve children stolen and Harry was still only beginning to piece together the why and the what for.

 

Brief questioning had quickly revealed that each child was born a different month to the others, though most came from the middle of the month, not the last day as he had. Harry hadn’t brought that up, his birth was mostly unknown to Ausberg owing to his being found in the woods by the lumberjacks. Not that it mattered anymore, from what Harry could tell, this was for blood magic. Even Harry, a barely trained wizard knew that blood magic was shonky at best and erratic at worst. The three witches, Muriel, who was their leader and the only non-demonic appearing one of the three, Frieda, the spiky haired witch who had snatched him, and Ingrid, the one with hair like blood, still sought one last ingredient. Harry spent a lot of his time now praying that they never found it. Though the would, eventually, there was something in the air that told him that they’d found what they were looking for, now they just needed to get it.

 

Time passed and Harry and Stefan more often than not tried to plot their way out, stealing nails and whatever else they could get their hands on, but the cages were enchanted and nothing they did ever worked out. Madeline would occasionally be requested to speak of the witch hunters who had come to Ausberg to save them all and Harry would redouble his efforts whenever she did. Madeline was very inspiring at times; that, or Harry was over his confinement.

 

It seemed like barely a day since Madeline had been taken when the troll, Edward, returned bearing an unconscious, tall young woman with dark hair and tight fitting clothing upon his back. Harry didn’t need to look at Madeline’s devastated face to know this woman was one of the witch hunters. Weariness overtook him and he settled back on his heels and watched her through the bars of his cage. It didn’t take long before she was stirring in her cell and by that time, Edward had returned with a basketful of bread that he threw at the starving children without malice, though that didn’t stop the bread from hurting as it hit them. It was old and stale and hard, Harry had gotten a bloody nose from a chunk hitting him in the face after Stefan but before Klaus.

 

"Eat up" Harry advised the woman, taking hunks from the younger children and softening them with water first, before handing them back. Across the hallway, he could see Stefan and Klaus doing the same. The buckets of water were closely and jealously hoarded, though all got their fair share when possible.

 

The woman watched them silently for a long while before speaking, “who are you?”

 

Harry barely spared her a glance, feeling disappointed in her presence after what felt like a long promise of her saving them. Stefan, however, had lost none of his cheer or good humour. “I am Stefan, this is Klaus,” Stefan gestured to the thin, dark haired eleven year old beside him, “and that there, is Harry,” Stefan said, “we’re the oldest. Madeline says she knows you, this is Karl, Greta, Günther, Karin, Brigitte, Andrea, Petra, and Nikola.”

 

“Six boys and six girls,” the woman murmured and she shook her head, as if to clear it of depressing thoughts and met Stefan’s eyes with respect, “my name is Gretel,” she told them, “I am a-”

 

“Witch hunter,” Harry interrupted bitterly, “we know. Madeline told us,” he met Gretel’s eyes and smirked and shrugged, “some witch hunter,” he jibed.

 

“Harry!” Stefan chided, “be nice!”

 

“No,” Gretel said, “he’s right. I was captured,” and then she smirked back at Harry, “although, in my defence, I put up a hell of a fight.”

 

Harry felt a spark of something warm light in his chest and his smirk morphed into a fierce grin, “good!” He said, “I hope you bruised them.”

 

Gretel returned his grin and nodded at him, “I damn well did my best.”

 

Anything further said was cut off as Muriel appeared, Frieda and Ingrid at her side. “Edward!” Muriel barked, “get the white witch ready,” she turned to the other witches, “you two, get the children ready. The blood moon rises!”

 

Harry grabbed Nikola and Petra’s hands and held them tightly, “everyone buddy up, don’t struggle,” he shot the witches a dark, feral look, “they need us alive.”

 

Frieda gave a loud cackle as she dragged long chains over to Harry’s cage. “For now,” she told him with a malicious grin on her face, leaning into him, Frieda traced a finger down the side of his face, “I look forwards to slitting your throat, boy,” she told him mock-sweetly.

 

Harry swayed slightly on his feet but managed to remain standing despite the bile rising in his throat. Numbness overtook him as each child was chained to another in a long string by the witches. Stefan bumped into his back and the slightly younger boy was trembling as hard as Harry was. Some of the littler ones were crying.

 

Frieda and Ingrid led them out onto a plateau area where a great fire was already lit and Gretel was chained to a pillar off the the side, near a giant cauldron. The sky was steadily darkening and over the forest, Harry could see witch after witch arriving via broomstick. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

 

As red began to cover the moons face, Muriel stood straight and tall before all, fierce pride and disgusting gloating overtaking her features. Harry turned away from her and focussed instead on wiggling a nail into the lock of his chains, hoping to undo it. So great was his distraction that his missed the man’s appearance, but he did not miss the first shot that exploded a witch into good right in front of everyone.

 

Stefan let out a cheer and beside them, Madeline let out a gasp of recognition: “that’s Gretel’s brother; Hansel!”

 

Harry watched heart in mouth as Hansel shot witch after witch, certain that he was going to be overrun by foul demonic beings only to look up in shock as a spray of rapid bullets showered down from a ridge above them.

 

“Is that Mina?” Klaus’ voice cracked in surprise.

 

“The healer?”

 

“I thought she was a witch?”

 

Harry laughed faintly, “I don’t care if she’s a witch or not, she’s clearly one of the good guys,” he exclaimed.

 

Klaus nodded in amazement as witch after witch was felled, not only by Hansel who was a whirling dervish in their midst, but also Mina, who shot witches out of the sky and away from the bewildered children.

 

“Harry!” Günther screamed as Frieda dragged the boy over to a block of wood and an axe. Harry had seen enough chickens killed in Ausberg to know that that block of wood and axe meant, and he sprang into action, running at the witch in desperation, only to be kicked squarely in the ribs by Frieda and sent flying back into the other children. Harry screamed in horror as Frieda picked up the axe only to gag as he received a mouthful of blood from Frieda’s back exploding outwards from the buckshot of Hansel’s shotgun.

 

Hansel, the man in a long leather coat and dark trousers, knelt at Harry’s side and snapped his chains off, “you need to get out,” Hansel told him, is blue eyes gleaming beneath heavy blonde brows that reminded Harry far too much like Max. “Run, all of you!”

 

And just like that, after nearly two months of captivity, they were free.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry shoved Stefan to the front, “get them out of here,” he instructed the other boy, “you have to get them to safety. Don’t look back, just run,” Harry told him fiercely, “can you do that? Stefan, can you run and not look back for me?”

 

Stefan bit back a shaky sob and nodded his head, “yes,” he whispered.

 

“Good,” Harry shuddered as another witch died to the sound of a cracking gunshot. “Run, Stefan, and don’t look back.” Harry shoved the other boy down the rocky mountain path, “run, all of you. Just run!”

 

Stefan grabbed Andrea’s hand tight and ran, the other nine children following close behind. Klaus turned back, staring at Harry long enough that Harry knew that he didn’t want to leave, that he wanted to stay and help; but Harry was the oldest and he had a duty to protect them.

 

“Run, Klaus!” Harry shouted, throwing a hand forwards and pointing, "run, damn you!”

 

Klaus bit his lip but did as he was bid. He ran.

 

Harry waited just long enough to see the other children disappear down the path, before he spun around catching sight of Edward as he was flung over the edge of the cliff by Muriel. Gretel, who had been also fighting Muriel, screamed in despair, her cry of “Edward!” seemed ripped from her lips, involuntary in her horror. Harry darted forwards, tackling a stray witch from clawing at Hansel, who had broken up the little party the witches had going, the man who had prevented Günther’s head from being chopped off. Harry would never be able to repay him, but he could try with this as a start.

 

The witch was strong and fast though, and Harry was barely thirteen. A boy still. Light and quick on his feet, but far weaker than a witch who’d bargained with the devil. She held out her wand at him, and Harry, who'd gone flying after the original tackle and was breathless and in pain from several beatings he’d received in the chest already tonight, stared at her in fear, unable to move for the ice filling his limbs.

 

“No!” A voice cried, and the witch’s head exploded in a mass of bloody gore. Red hair filled Harry’s vision and he was hauled to his feet by a woman with blue eyes dressed in an orange shift: Mina, Klaus’ maybe-witch but definitely on the good-side of everything happening right now. “What do you think you are doing?” She demanded of him, her voice as fierce as Harry’s had been, when he had sent Stefan and Klaus away.

 

“I had to help,” Harry told her shakily, his heart rabbiting in his chest, “I know I’m only small, but I’ve done stuff like this before; I’m not a child!”

 

“You are,” Mina refuted sharply, though not without kindness for a small smile crinkled the sides of her eyes as she look upon him, “and you must be Harry, Gretchen’s told the entire village about you and how you saved her. You’re a good boy, Harry; but you’re just that, a boy.”

 

“Mina!” A voice shouted in warning as a witch came flying out of nowhere at them both and Harry ducked the woman’s grip and punched the snarling, wounded witch in the face, pushing all his determination, all his strength, all his rage at these creatures daring to harm his friends into his fist. The witch’s look of shock was matched only by Harry’s expression of stunned amazement as she was sent crashing backwards into the stone of the mountainside.

 

Hansel, who had shouted in warning to Mina, skidded to a stop beside both her and Harry, “kid,” Hansel breathed in surprise, “how the fuck did you manage that?”

 

Harry stammered, flailing in his inability to explain properly, considering it was properly accidental magic and they weren’t too fond of magic right now, “I- I panicked!”

 

Hansel laughed breathlessly, clapping Harry’s shoulder, “keep it up,” he told Harry firmly before once more throwing himself into the fray. “And get him out of here, Mina!” Came Hansel's shout as he tackled Muriel to the ground, saving Gretel in the process, even as she nailed a different witch between the eyes nearby with her crossbow.

 

Mina, grabbed Harry’s shoulder and attempted to tug him away from the action, but Harry was as determined as he was foolish and while he was scared of what was happening, he couldn’t allow any of the witches to escape. Not with the other kids somewhere down in the forest below; and many of the witches were doing just that on their broomsticks.

 

“No,” Harry rasped, fighting against Mina’s attempts to save him, “they’re getting away! There are children down there!” He cried, flinging himself free at the last minute and though he had no way to shoot the witches down, Harry wasn’t the youngest seeker in a century for nothing. Harry sprinted to the closest broom and grabbed the handle, it was nothing like his Nimbus 2000, let alone the Shooting Star he’d learned to fly on, but it would have to do; and, ignoring Mina’s scream of terror, Harry flung himself of the cliff, broom in hand.

 

It took him less than a second to have the broom between his legs and be soaring upwards, Harry stopped long enough to stare into Mina’s eyes and smile, “I’ll be okay, help the others,” he told her seriously, “I’ll stop the witches from getting away.”

 

“Harry!” Mina yelled after him, her voice a mixture of fear and frustration, “get back here! It’s a trap!”

 

Harry, however, was bound and determined to protect his friends. Bending down low over the broom handle, Harry eked out all the speed he could from the broom between his legs. All around him the forest was a brown and green blur from his speed and as the wind whipped his face, Harry felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes. His cheeks stung but desperation kept him moving. The desperation that he had felt at the end of first year when Quirrel had gone after the stone, the self-same desperation that he had felt when he and Ron had saved Hermione from the troll; now, his other friends were in danger. This time, however, Harry feared he would be too late. Ahead of him the two witches flew with far less practice than he, though no less speed and it was only by the grace of God that Harry missed the strung up wires that shredded the two witches ahead of him.

 

Sickened, Harry slowed to a stop, staring at the dripping steel wires that had been strung tightly between three different trees. His broom sagged a little, drifting towards the ground as if to mimic the wind that had been taken from Harry’s sails, a motion that ended up saving his life as a jet of brilliant blue light shot over his left shoulder and collided with the strung up wire, snapping several with heavy twangs of relieved tension. Harry yelped, throwing his arms over his head and falling from the broom onto his back; and he watched as Muriel soared overhead, free and clear despite the fact that when he’d last seen her, both Hansel and Gretel had been fighting her. Despite his breathlessness from his short, hard fall, the smirk of amusement and disdainful glee that the witch shot at him burned far more than the rock that was jammed into his hip.

 

Climbing to his feet, Harry tugged his jerkin straight and snatched up his broom, furious with himself. “Harry!” Mina’s voice cried out behind him with gladness and as Harry turned, a sharp crack ahead of them had him ducking down instantly, hitting the deck at the suddenness of the noise.

 

Rough hands grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, piercing blue eyes cut into him and Harry reeled under the intensity of Hansel’s stare, “you’ve got good instincts, kid,” Harry was told firmly with a smile. “Come on, that will have been Ben,” Hansel said to both Harry and Mina, setting off towards the sound at a jog.

 

Harry darted after the man, not really wanting to remain under Mina’s furious eye any longer. Despite having faced evil witches, giants chess sets, trolls, and a giant snake, Harry was unreasonably terrified of disapproving adults. Mina’s hissed breath that followed him had Harry hunching his shoulders about his ears and quickening his pace to match the easy lope of Hansel’s run. Hansel broke into the clearing first, Harry close on his heels, and stopped just a bit before the tall lanky teen that stood near the edge, a smoking gun in his hand.

 

“What happened?” The man demanded, face furrowing into a deep frown at the sight of the teen’s elated grin; a teen, who Harry quickly recognised as Ben Walser who worked for the innkeeper in the towns stables as a hostler. Ben was occasionally employed as an errand boy by the law clerks who hated leaving their place of work; whether from laziness or being too busy, Harry had never quite been able to figure out.

 

Ben, however, was distracted by the sight of Harry, “Harry?!” Ben exclaimed, reaching out and pulling the younger boy into a tight hug, “you’re alive!”

 

Harry groaned and shoved Ben off him, pleased to see him but not overly fond of his enthusiastic need to hug _everyone_ around him. “Get off, Ben,” Harry grumped, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Hey, hey,” Hansel interjected, “we can all hug it out later; Ben, what happened?”

 

“I shot her,” Ben explained quickly, bouncing a little on his toes with pride, “just over there; the Grand Witch.”

 

“Muriel,” Harry corrected, and at Hansel’s bemused glance, he shrugged, “her name’s Muriel; at least, that’s what the other witches called her.”

 

Hansel’s brows lifted in amusement and he tilted his head in acquiescence, “alright, Muriel, then,” he drawled, “bit of an innocuous name for a Grand Witch, but I suppose she wasn’t always evil.”

 

Harry shook his head again, “she was,” and as Mina turned a gentle gaze on him, Harry’s shoulders drew in tight around him, “she had to have been.” It was the plaintive cry of the last of a childhoods innocence; the plea for the monsters under the bed to remain under the bed and inhuman.

 

“She was human once, kid,” Hansel tells Harry gruffly, recognising Harry’s fear. “Stay here, with the horses,” turning to Ben and Mina, Hansel gestures with his head to follow him. Harry’s left behind, something cracked and broken in his chest, unable to protest and just wanting everything to stop. Nearby, the chestnut horse whickers at him as if in greeting and Harry stumps over to the pair of horses and slumps in a daze at their hooves, exhaustion catching up to him.

 

For a while, all is still and quiet until a loud explosion sounds nearby and Harry startles to his feet, shock sending him into movement before his brain engages. Instinct sends Harry to his broom and it is instinct that overrides his revulsion and makes him pick up on of the wands that the shredded witches had dropped post mortem. Kicking his leg over the shaft, Harry shoots into the sky towards the explosion, ripping over Gretel’s head, her cry of shock not slowing him down in the slightest. Harry’s so fixed on his target of reaching Mina, Ben, and Hansel that saved them all, that he misses the broken branch that clips his shoulder and sends him crashing to the ground of the clearing where a creepy old house stood. There was line of thin stemmed trees ringing the foreboding structure and Harry felt a thrill of fear run down his spine.

 

But fear had never made him back down before now and determination drove him to his feet as he watched Hansel shoot Ben through his shoulder, saving Ben’s life. As if he moved through molasses, Harry watched, sprinting hard and fast towards the action, as Hansel fired shot after shot and was thrown around the clearing as if he was a rag-doll. Rounding the last of the aspen towards the entryway, Harry’s chest thrummed in horror as he watched Hansel go down and then, fear flooded him as Mina stepped forwards, challenging the witch.

 

Harry hit the outer boundary line as the jet of orange light from Mina’s wand missed Muriel by a mile…

 

… Muriel’s smile…

 

The blurring of movement…

 

… Mina’s cry of pain…

 

… Harry screamed, stolen wand extended before him, as a jet of brilliant red shot from its tip…

 

The tip of the dagger never reached Mina…

 

… as the bolt of Harry’s red spell collided, hard, with Muriel…

 

Mina’s body bowed in shock as Muriel was ripped away and thrown bodily into the house. Harry staggered to a stop and stared at the wand in his hand, he had never been able to cast an expelling charm before. That was fourth year magic. Gaping, Harry looked up and met Mina’s eyes which had been blown wide in fear, “what…” Harry gasped, his chest aching from the heavy thundering of his heart while a stitch throbbed in his side.

 

Mina stared back at him, unconsciously repeating words that Harry still heard in his best dreams somedays, when he really needed them: “you’re a wizard, Harry,” Mina gasped, her hands clinging to the door frame, just barely staying upright.

 

Harry staggered to the side, “I’m a what?” He rattled before shaking his head like a dog might when wet, cutting Mina’s reply off; “wait, no,” Harry stuttered, shaking, “I know.”

 

Mina grabbed the man’s arm as he staggered into her, eyes running over the lines of her body in silent fear that she’d been harmed, “you knew?”

 

Harry sagged, swaying as the events of the day slammed into him, “of course I knew,” and a mirthless smile crossed his lips, “how could I not?” Harry repeated the words of his magic-hating Aunt and it struck him as immensely funny for some reason, and Harry began to laugh hysterically, tears rolling down his face, his shoulders shaking, as he laughed and sobbed through the events of the past God-knows how long.

 

Mina stepped forth and bundled him into her arms, tucking Harry into the curve of her side. “Shhh,” she soothed him, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

 

Hansel’s lips thinned as he watched them, nodding as if coming to a decision, “stay here,” he bade them before setting off into the dark gloom of the house.

 

Harry jolted in Mina’s arms, as if to go after him, only to subside as Mina’s grip became stifling and tight about him, “easy,” she said softly, “leave the rest for Hansel,” she told him.

 

“Hansel?” Harry asked, sleepily, sagging into the soft comfort of Mina’s arms.

 

“Mhmm,” Mina agreed, “that’s his name.”

 

Harry smiled at that, tucking in tighter to Mina and relaxing a little more. “I didn’t know,” he told her, “I just knew he was brave and good; not like the witches.”

 

Behind them the thunder of booted feet heralded Gretel’s arrival, who paused long enough to shout: “Hansel?” at them in a demanding tone.

 

Mina pointed to the house and told her gravely, “he’s in there.”

 

“Of course he is,” Gretel hissed her displeasure.

 

Harry twisted enough to watch Gretel disappear into the house after the man, Hansel. “She’s a bit scary,” he whispered to Mina’s.

 

“She is a bit,” Mina replied.

 

Harry tilted his head back enough to look up at Mina and couldn’t help the smirk, “does she know you _like_ like her brother?” He asked her mischievously.

 

The sound of a heavy crash interrupted whatever remark a blushing Mina might have come up with and Harry tried to slip from her grip to see what was going on, only Mina was wise to his tricks now and her grip was neither loose nor easy to slip this time around. “Harry, no,” Mina denied him roughly, looping an arm around his waist and the other about his shoulders, lifting him bodily up so his legs kicked uselessly in the air. “They’re professionals; leave it!”

 

Harry fought uselessly before sagging once more in Mina’s grip, desperation and fear making him cry his fear and helpless rage, “professionals die too,” Harry rasped, his body boneless and heavy in Mina’s supporting arms.

 

“Not us, kid,” Hansel interrupted and Harry’s head shot up to meet Hansel’s compassionate gaze, a gun propped up on his shoulder and a smirk twisting his lips. “Whatever you did to her, she was still out when we got to her.”

 

Gretel raised an eyebrow at her brother before turning her speculative gaze on Harry, “saved us from a much harder fight,” she admitted, nodding at him in respect.

 

Harry slumped as shock began to overtake his senses. “So,” he asked hesitantly, “it’s over then?”

 

Hansel reached out and gripped Harry’s shoulder tightly, “its over,” he agreed, “you done good, kid.”

 

Harry’s smile smeared across his face and the last thing he head as blood rushed from his head and darkness overtook his vision, was his voice saying:

 

“Oh, well, that’s good then…”


	5. Chapter 5

Startled, Hansel stepped forwards and caught the boy before he slipped from Mina’s arms and Gretel huffed in faint concern. “It’s been a big day,” Hansel stated somewhat uncertainly, his obvious lack of experience with children shining through. Normally Hansel just had to cut the kid loose, kill the witch, and then return the traumatised kid to their parents - if they had parents. Sliding an arm under the boys lanky legs, Hansel cradled the child to his chest, marvelling at how… light the boy was. Matted dark hair stuck in a cap to the boys head, though the edge of a scar could be seen on his forehead; he wore a once-white shirt and a tan coloured jerkin that laced at the front of his collar, his pants were loose and brown, more mud and dirt than the original colour. But what stuck with Hansel the most, as he settled Gretel and Ben on the horses, before handing the boy up to Gretel to keep safe, was how thin the child was.

 

Gretel met his eyes and her lips twisted in bitterness, able to read her brother even now as he thought about the boy in her arms rather than hunting and killing witches. “I watched him,” she told Hansel softly, winding an arm about the boys lax waist, “he would eat a bare few mouthfuls of the bread the witches gave us and the rest he would split with the other children. I have no idea how long he was there for, but he’s lost a lot of weight.”

 

“Harry sacrificed himself for another child, a girl by the name of Gretchen,” Ben interjected, his voice soft and gentle for once, rather than excited. “Gretchen told everyone how he tried to stop the witches from taking her, how he offered himself in her place; no one believed her of course,” Ben admitted wryly, “everyone thought that Harry had run away. It made no sense for the witches to take him.”

 

“They took him,” Mina said from the other side of Gretel’s horse, “because he’s still innocent despite his age. A child in all the ways that matter. Pure hearted.”

 

Hansel’s mouth twisted in disgust, not really one to believe in such things; and yet, Hansel looked up at Harry’s slack face, exhaustion creating black rings beneath the boys eyes, he had done what no other would have dared - except perhaps Ben; though Ben was sixteen, a young man, and strong and good with a gun. Harry’d had nothing bar his fists, and still he had fought.

 

“He’s a witch?” Hansel asked Mina, knowing better now than to start throwing accusations around. Good witches exist, he knows that now; glancing up at Gretel, Hansel wonders if she knew… though going by her distant gaze and pale face, Hansel wonders if she’s present at all for this conversation.

 

Mina was shaking her head, “he’s a boy,” she said as if by the way of an explanation, “men are called wizards and tend to use staffs, not wands; though I’ve never seen any wizard do what Harry did today. Wizards tend to be scholars, not fighters. Some of the wisest men in the civilised world are wizards, though few about them would know of it.”

 

Hansel nodded slowly, “I see,” he lied, and glanced up at Harry once more. “He’s small.”

 

Mina’s eyes shone with mirth, “he’s barely thirteen.”

 

Hansel’s face coloured and he harrumphed. “Still,” he grumbled.

 

“A child,” Mina added to further her amusement at his expense and even Ben was grinning, a wry, pained sort of grin but a grin nonetheless.

 

“Guess he’s not quite Merlin,” Ben added cheekily and at Hansel’s rolling eyes, Mina burst into peels of sweet voiced laughter.

 

“Not yet, no,” Mina agreed once she gained control of herself.

 

Looking up at Harry and the hand that still gripped the wand, Hansel could almost see the years stretching out before him, and a time where Harry’s hair might be white from age and a long beard grew from his chin and the then-man might wear long robes and carry a heavy staff of oak and twisted wire.

 

“Not yet,” Hansel granted, “but perhaps, one day.”

 

Staring over at Hansel, seeing the man’s far-off eyes and wondering what he might be envisioning for a boy barely into his teen years, Mina felt a weight settle on her chest. She turned to look at Harry and for a moment she could almost see a great and glorious future stretching out ahead of him. Not yet, certainly; she realised, but…

 

“One day.”

 

***

 

The Sheriff greeted them in the town centre with a dark glare and the bodies of ten able men with clubs and pitchforks to back him up. Hansel had no intention of fighting the man and the children that huddled off to the side, clinging to their parents indicated that they’d returned unharmed. One boy stood slightly taller and straighter than the rest, a boy with dark hair and the same pallid features as the Sheriff; and Hansel felt like kicking himself.

 

No one had told him that the Sheriff had a son.

 

“Klaus!” The Sheriff barked, fury tight behind the single word as the boy slipped his Mothers arms and darted over to where Gretel still cradled Harry in her arms.

 

“Harry,” Klaus began, subsiding only when he realised the other boy was unconscious. Klaus seemed to sway on the spot and Hansel darted forwards to catch the boy when Klaus drew himself up again. “What happened?”

 

Hansel was struck with the realisation that all these children had matured for their trauma and experience; they were hardly children anymore. “Exhaustion,” Hansel was quick to explain, “and possibly shock. He fought well and hard.”

 

Mina joined him and smiled at Klaus reassuringly, “he’ll be fine, Klaus; he just needs rest.”

 

“Promise?” Klaus asked and Hansel felt something tight unknot in his chest; wearied and matured for their experiences, but they still needed an adults guidance. There was something reassuring about that.

 

“Promise.” Hansel told him reassuringly. Klaus nodded and allowed his Mother to lead him away. Turning to the Sheriff, Hansel extended an olive branch of sorts, “you have a brave son.”

 

The Sheriff’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed heavily. “You saved him.”

 

“I didn’t know he was yours,” Hansel admitted.

 

“Still,” the Sheriff’s shoulders twitched as if the next admission pained him, “you have more than earned your payment, in full.”

 

Hansel inclined his head, “and I will collect; tomorrow,” he amended as Ben and Gretel both swayed in their saddles. “For now we desperately need rest and food.”

 

“Mikael has prepared beds for you all, Ben included,” the Sheriff assured Hansel, beckoning him to follow, the squat innkeeper falling into step beside them.

 

“Jeremy insisted,” Mikael explained with a twitch of his lips, “he would not hear of your failure; not with Ben to help you.”

 

Atop his horse, Ben’s cheeks coloured at the praise and he swallowed thickly. In what felt like no time at all, Harry and Mina had been tucked into beds across the hall, while Ben had been dragged off by an insistent young man by the name of Jeremy, and Gretel had all but collapsed fully clothed into the bed farthest from the door in her and Hansel’s room. Heaving a heavy sigh, Hansel spared enough time to pull of his boots and shuck his coat, before doing the same to his sister. Then, without ceremony, he collapsed heavily into his bed.

 

Hansel never knew that Jeremy returned with clean clothes for both he and Gretel that Jeremy set upon a chair. Nor did he know that Jeremy tucked them both into their beds, pulling their covers up about their ears.

 

Nor did Hansel know that Jeremy sat beside them, watching over them, waiting for them to awake once more.

 

To thank them.

 

For saving the children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I may continue this, it's not like it's too well wrapped up; that said, I... also don't really have a plan for more. This was essentially a plot bunny that ran free and I did my best to wrangle it into submission. 10K words later, however, tells you I was... pretty damn unsuccessful. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed the jaunt into what is probably seen as a cult classic mixed with a childhood classic for no other reason than I could and so there. :P 
> 
> Review if you want, or don't. It's cool. 
> 
> Thanks for swinging by,  
> Xan
> 
> P.S: You can always find me here: [Xan's Tumblr](https://sar-kalu.tumblr.com/)


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